


a night to remember

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Codas [36]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apologies, Coda, Episode: s14e18 Absence, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: It takes three days for Dean to finally look at Castiel.For the most part, Castiel doesn’t try to engage, at least not directly. Dean mourns violently and all at once, the brunt of his anger taken out on anyone within arm’s reach, no matter how familial they may be. Whatever Castiel felt for Mary is nothing compared to Dean or Sam—for two years, they finally had their mother back through unforeseen circumstances, and now, they never even got the chance to say goodbye for a second time.





	a night to remember

It takes three days for Dean to finally look at Castiel.

For the most part, Castiel doesn’t try to engage, at least not directly. Dean mourns violently and all at once, the brunt of his anger taken out on anyone within arm’s reach, no matter how familial they may be. Whatever Castiel felt for Mary is nothing compared to Dean or Sam—for two years, they finally had their mother back through unforeseen circumstances, and now, they never even got the chance to say goodbye for a second time.

Sam is quiet, reserved about the ordeal—but always on the verge of tears, always seeking conversation, anything to pass the time. Castiel entertains him the best he can, whether it be through idle chatter or just keeping him company. “You know he’s not pissed at you,” Sam says at one point, the two of them watching Dean clean out the Impala from a distance. “He’s just… It’s the whole thing. That’s how he copes, he goes after the first person he can pin the blame on.”

“Still,” Castiel sighs. “I can’t help but feel… I played a role in this somehow. If I would’ve told you both—”

“That’s not on you, Cas.” Hand to Castiel’s bicep, Sam leads him away from the door, out of Dean’s earshot. “Look, we all had our suspicions, but we all believed that Jack was on our side. That Jack was here to help us, and we all tried to ignore the red flags. We knew the risks, and we clung to hope instead, because we loved him.”

Castiel hangs his head, staring pointedly at his shoes. “We could’ve done more, though,” he says. “I don’t know what, but there had to be something we could’ve done. Something to keep his soul intact, to keep him on the right path.”

“But that’s not on us.” Sam pats his shoulder; whether or not he believes his own lie, Castiel doesn’t know. In fact, if asked the question, Castiel doesn’t know if he truly believes himself, either. “I’m not saying I forgive him for what he did, and I don't think any of us ever will, but he’s… He doesn’t know up from down right now. And he needs our help.”

But the help Jack needs, none of them will ever be able to give him. That thought alone haunts Castiel for hours on end, even after Sam heads to bed for the night, and Dean wanders the halls, unsteady on his feet, the skin beneath his eyes sallowed. Never once does he look in Castiel’s direction, and numerous times, Dean leaves the room milliseconds after hearing Castiel’s voice or catching sight of him. He hasn’t been sleeping—That, Castiel knows.

Somewhere around midnight—or noon, based on the clock on the kitchen wall—Castiel finds Dean in the kitchen, hunched over the sink, shoulders trembling. Yet, he doesn’t make a noise, his grief purely physical, anguish palpable. All Castiel can do is stand there and watch while Dean white-knuckles the counter, a horrible wheeze wrenching from his throat, not at all human. Comforting him now would be akin to petting a tiger, or diving into shark-infested waters head-first—Still, he steps closer, only stopping when Dean rears up, obviously listening, discerning.

His shoulders tense when he turns, the hard lines of his cheeks reddening, wet with tears. “I can’t do this anymore,” Dean says, hoarse, hands fidgeting at his sides. Castiel breaks for him, wanting nothing more than to touch, to ease his burden. “The secrets, man. Secrets are what get people killed—”

“I know,” Castiel says, fighting to maintain eye contact. “I know, and I can’t apologize enough—”

“Don’t.” Shaking his head, Dean palms his face dry, or at least tries. “Look, I… I know it’s not your fault. Sammy set me straight, and… This ain’t on us, and it is.” The gap between them shrinks, not of Castiel’s doing; Dean’s embrace makes up for the three days of silence, warm and just as intense, despite how his muscles tremble with exhaustion. “We trusted him.”

“We didn't know,” Castiel says, muffled into Dean’s collar. “Suspicions or not, I never thought he would be capable of—”

“I get it.” Dean nods, squeezing Castiel tighter. Castiel just holds him in return, settling his hands between Dean’s shoulder blades. “Can we just… not talk about that right now?”

Not talking is what got them into this mess in the first place—not talking is why Mary isn’t here anymore. “I miss her,” Castiel says. Audibly, Dean chokes. “It’s okay to mourn, Dean. To take time for yourself, to remember her. But you don’t have to shut everyone out in the process.”

Dean breathes, lungs inflating past the point of necessity; his exhale sounds more like a whimper than a sigh, spasming into a sob. “I messed up,” he says, voice thick. “With us, with Sam, with… everything. I just wanted to believe in one thing, that we were all a family, and now… The kid’s run off, and I just had to watch my mother burn again—”

Castiel kisses him. Purely out of impulse, but it works either way, direction Dean’s attention to something more time consuming. Gently, he cups Dean’s cheeks, capturing his tears in the crook of his thumb and index finger; Dean just shudders and falls into it, dragging his nails down the back of Castiel’s coat. “You know I didn't mean it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of Castiel’s lips. “Ain’t exactly the best with stress.”

“I don’t think any of us are.” Castiel pulls away, only to rest his forehead against Dean’s, sharing a breath. “If you wanted, we could wake Sam. Reminiscing might help.”

Just looking at Dean, Castiel knows the last thing he wants is to even think about it, let alone sit around swapping stories. But to Castiel’s shock, Dean does, leaning further into his space. “Not your fault,” Dean promises with another kiss. If only it didn't feel like a lie. “C’mon. He’s probably awake anyway, knowing him.”

Walking down the halls with Dean’s hand in his, Castiel can’t help but listen to the emptiness of the room, the footsteps echoing off the walls. The loss hasn’t completely caught up to him yet, the last of the adrenaline just now waning—but for a few precious moments, Castiel knew Mary, and knew just how much she meant to Dean, to Sam. Her absence feels like a chasm, her proverbial ghost wandering the halls, haunting their memories.

Castiel won’t forget her. And, with Dean’s hand in his, fingers tightening around his own, he knows Dean never will.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know? Hopefully this is coherent. Last night gave me the sad ;__;
> 
> Title is from the Joe Diffie song. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
